My Boy Builds Coffins
by Typist Massacre
Summary: For better or worse. Some say it's a blessing - some say it's a curse.    Missing Scene from Forest of the Dead.


"He builds coffins."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Coffins…" Donna let the word slip from her untreated lips as she gazed up at the ceiling. The world she was floating on consisted of a floral patterned couch that rested in her living room. The cushions snuggled comfortably under her head to make the arm rest bearable.

"Your husband?"

"What? NO!" she exclaimed and turned to her guest, who was sitting in an armchair looking at her inquisitively. "No, not him! Why on earth would I say that about him?"

"You said 'He builds coffins.' If this 'he' is not your husband, then who is 'he'?"

She turned her head back to the spot on the ceiling where she her eyes had fixated on earlier, melting into deep thought, "I don't know. It's like I have these strange dreams every once in a while about this man. When I see him, I get this sensation that I know him. Not just as an acquaintance and yet not long enough to be sure whether I should consider him a friend or not. I do know I trust him. Even if he is dangerous."

"Just because he builds coffins doesn't mean he's a dangerous man," her guest commented. An honest point given if you had none of the details.

"Not 'builds' them literally," she groaned and shook her head. Which was harder? Getting her head around these strange dreams or trying to explain them? Either way, the whole experience was giving her a headache. "This man is extraordinary. The one in my dreams. He can be kind one moment and ruthless the next - and not because it's a conscious decision - he just forgets. It's hard to explain!" An exasperated sigh flung from her throat and she pushed herself up into a sitting position.

"Maybe if you try to explain slower, try to bring out one thought at a time instead of trying to explain it all at once you'll be able to not only understand it but help me see why these dreams cause you such distress."

Donna paused and brought her hands to her face and ran them over her skin and through her hair, washing her face and mind of the frustration this was causing her. After a moment of silence, she agreed to lay back down and returned to her spot on the ceiling, her hair gathering around her head like a red halo.

"He's something that should never exist - even within the realms of fiction. A magnificent man whose smile seems to light up any situation because behind that smile - and those old, old eyes - you can see a plan formulating; weighing out the odds. He smiles when the odds are in his favour and he can save everyone in harms way. He smiles when he has little to no chance of pulling these plans off successfully but does so because there's nothing else to do at that moment. If he can make you believe for one moment that everything's going to be fine, it's one less thing for him to worry about. It's cruel sometimes but he carries no malicious intent when he does that. It's like he's been doing it for so long it's become instinctive to just … smile. "

"And why does he get himself into dangerous situations?" her guest asked as he jotted down notes.

"Because they ask him. Many different people of difference races, times and worlds. Kings and Queens, peasants and thieves - he serves them all when they need his BECAUSE they need him and he can't say no."

"He sounds very selfless and kind."

"Unbelievably kind. That's one of the reasons he can't exist. No one could ever be that kind. Could they?" She turned to her guest, who just sat there, silent now as the pencil marked the surface of a piece of paper, stained with a series of blue and red lines.

"Let's get back to these coffins. Why is he dangerous?"

She closed her eyes momentarily - flashes of faces bombarded her at rapid pace of frightening creatures, fire, water, trembling soil and screams.

"He carries bad luck. Something bad always happens when he's around. It's like a bad contract. You'll get his services but never without a price - yet he never gets a say in what the price is. Something else does. An unseen force and he just has to stand by and accept the consequences. Every time he'll try to stop it but something or someone always ends up being a sacrifice. On occasion there's more than one. "

"Are these ritual sacrifices?"

"No - just unfortunate ones."

"And that's why you said he builds coffins. Someone always dies."

"Yeah…" tears started to form in her blue eyes but they were quickly wiped away with her wrist before they could fall and sink into the fabric of the cushions.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Donna caught her breath and cleared her throat as her nostrils flared, "just peachy."

"By the sounds of it, maybe you shouldn't say that he essentially 'builds' coffins but that they follow him."

"No, no. He builds them. He's built many from what I can tell in my dreams and it's nothing new to him. It's almost an art by now. I can recall one dream where in order to save the world - our world - he had to kill an entire nest of strange, vicious, anthropomorphic spiders in a storm of water and fire in a warehouse. It was terrible! Not only the event but how he could just stand there and watch with no expression as the mother cried for her children's lives - helpless and incapable to do anything to save her babies! And like some old God - he just stared down at this grieving mother as she allowed herself to be taken in by the flames. If we had stayed any longer we would have died with them because he wasn't moving. This magnificent man of wonder was unable to move under grave knowledge of the decision he had made. Regretted to make. Necessary to make. I had to get him out of there…"

"Donna?"

"We had to get out of there or perish," Donna whispered and her eyes contorted, struggling to pull every detail of this horrifying dream from her clouded mind. "I was in my wedding gown and the flames were licking at the fabric. I wanted to leave but I just couldn't leave him there - in that trance as he watched them drown and burn. He was my only way out…"

"Donna, I think that's enough."

"I shouted-" her eyes flung open and she threw herself off the couch, "DOCTOR!" The cloud lifted from her mind and her eyes looked around the room frantically, as if being wakened out of a long sleep, "I'm not suppose to be here. I was suppose to be transported to the TARDIS - The Doctor!" She rushed up to her guest and pulled him out of his chair by his blue tie, "What did you do to him?"

"D-Donna" the man stuttered and struggled to get away from her.

"Don't 'Donna' me, buster! I want to know where I am and what you did with the Doctor!" She bellowed like a matriarch at the man before throwing him back into his chair and standing over him like a statue of iron and stone.

"Nothing," he smiled and took off his glasses, "and that's all you'll remember of this conversation."

She stumbled a little and brought a hand to her head as she suddenly came down with a sensation of light-headedness. Her eyes fluttered momentarily before closing all together as she recollected herself and stood on her two feet in a solid manner. Slowly, Donna's eyes opened and she shook her head in shock, surprised to see the man sitting in front of her.

"Oh, Dr. Moon. When did you get here?"

The man laughed and straightened out his tie and jacket as he moved his foot to some unheard rhythm that played in his head, "You had invited me over."

"I did?"

"You did. You called me over."

She looked down, perplexed and struggled to recall when she had done so when, like magic, the event came to her as clear as a bell, "So I did. That's right."

"You said something about coffins."

"Coffins?" her face contorted, "why on earth would I say something about coffins?"

"Maybe you said something else?" he presumed and rose an eyebrow, placing his glasses back on his face as he watched new memories and recollections make their way and sift through Donna's brain.

"Oh! COFFEE! I wanted to know if you'd like to come over for coffee!" She smiled and slapped him lightly on the shoulder as she shook her head, "You should get your ears checked making coffins out of coffee. Not good for a psychiatrist to be mishearing his patients."

Dr. Moon chuckled, rising to his feet and placing a comforting hand on Donna's shoulder as he lead her towards the kitchen, "Yes, that would be quite a career-killing mistake."


End file.
